Film Review | Jane Eyre

Period dramas, especially those originating from the work of the Bronte sisters (that’s Charlotte, Emily and to a lesser extent Anne, for the uninitiated) will never stop being produced, and while I’m not usually one to be lax about repetitiousness in Tinsletown and beyond, I don’t see this to necessarily be a bad thing.

Because despite being appropriated by both the literary mainstream and popular culture – usually in the guise of a regular churn of BBC dramas, but also in unfortunate, residual drips within teeny girl phenomena like the Twlight saga – Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and their not-as-well-known counterparts remain haunting tales of love and repression, and they’re often stranger than we remember, or indeed give them credit for – born out of the imaginations of sisters who cut their teeth devising elaborate fantasy worlds in childhood, and bearing the stamp of windblown, rustic Yorkshire moors, they leave a creeping imprint on the reader, which is not always easy to replicate, in all its complexity, on the screen.

Escaping from Tim Burton’s botched Wonderland, the Polish-Australian actress Mia Wasikowska plays the titular (and iconic) heroine, who is left in the care of a callous aunt (Sally Hawkins) after the death of her parents.

When she is in turn relegated to Lowood Institute, a spartan charity institution in which her individualist streak is not entirely appreciated (to say the least), she develops a thick skin, and resolves to pursue an independent life as a governess as soon as she’s free.

After she secures a post at Thornfield Hall – the property of a certain Edward Fairfax Rochester (Michael Fassbender), it appears that her contentedness has been secured, at least for the time being. Ensconced in the countryside, she gives lesson to the eager French girl Adele (Romy Settbon), and is made to feel at home by the loyal housekeeper Mrs Fairfax (Judi Dench).

But the sudden reappearance of Rochester changes everything. Initially, Jane is bemused – and slightly intimidated – by the brooding, bitter aristocrat, but gradually realises that, despite his outward brusqueness, her new employer respects her as an individual – something she could only dream of in the past. But as mutual respect turns to affection, Rochester has to face up to a dark secret if he hopes to find true happiness with the put-upon but fiercely intelligent Jane. 

Despite its many cinematic predecessors, it hardly surprising that yet another adaptation – officially the 11th – of Charlotte Bronte’s enduring governess drama has once again graced the cinemas.

But this time, the international cast and crew, led by up-and-coming Californian director Cary Fukunaga, have put together something that has little affinity with either Hollywood or the BBC. The film is quiet, earthy and built on ominous dread, with only a true romance can deflate. A lot like the source novel, and all the more admirable for it.

Of course, it’s the leads who have to do the most dramatic heavy-lifting. Wasikowska, made to keep her face set in line with Jane’s easy-to-root-for stoicism, manages to bring across a wide range of emotions with a mere twinkle of the eye, a blush and the occasional smile while Fassbender, having played everything from an embattled Roman centurion to a Tarantino WWI soldier and IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands is suitably mercurial – one minute, he’s crunching out hard words and glaring creepily, the next he’s softening and even allowing himself a tear or two.

Of course, what we really want to see is for the two to just get on with it and kiss. But as is true for the rest of the film, the wait is worthwhile, because this is a rich emotional canvas.